


Faro's Mom Has Got It Going On

by draculard



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: And a decent helping of Eli/Faro friendship, Basically Faro's mom fawning over Thrawn and Thrawn being smug about it, Bed sharing but not the cool kind, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Loneliness of Command, Lowkey a casefic, Meeting the Parents, Mostly humor with some angst, Mutual Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Rukh origin story, Thrawn in Mandalorian armor, Uncomfortable flirtation, Undercover Missions, With a side serving of actual romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: An undercover mission brings Thrawn, Faro, and Eli to Corulag, where they find themselves in need of quarters. Luckily, Faro's mom lives nearby.Unluckily, she takes an immediate liking to a certain Grand Admiral ... and she isn't shy about letting him know.
Relationships: Karyn Faro & Eli Vanto, Karyn Faro/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Thrawn & Faro's Mother
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Faro's Mom Has Got It Going On

Night descended over Corulag before anyone responded to the haggard-looking woman’s com. She’d been standing as close as she could to the signal tower without physically climbing it for almost an hour already, and her companions had both walked off in different directions and returned in the same time, their own attempts at communication equally unsuccessful. 

The Mandalorian was leaning into an alcove now, hidden from sight by anyone passing by their discreet alleyway. The young man beside him, dressed in the grimy clothes of a day laborer with anti-surveillance makeup smeared over his face, was still tapping away at his own outdated comlink when the answer came through.

“ _Commander Hammerly,_ ” said a voice over the woman’s com. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, wiped a streak of blood off her chin, and switched to video feed.

“ _Ah,_ ” said Hammerly, her expression not changing. “ _Commodore Faro, ma’am. In need of pickup?_ ”

“If you can,” said Faro. She motioned for Vanto to stand guard at the mouth of the alley and he moved into place seamlessly, looking for all the world like he belonged there. He leaned against the lift platform, watching speeders race by.

“ _You’re not in any danger, are you, ma’am?_ ” asked Hammerly. Her eyes tracked over the scope of the video feed, looking for something — or someone — other than what she could already see. It wasn’t hard to figure out what; Faro took a few steps back and rotated forty-five degrees, giving Hammerly a good view of the Mandalorian.

He raised one gauntleted hand in a lazy wave.

Satisfied, Hammerly’s gaze snapped back to Faro. “ _I_ _t may be a few days, ma’am,_ ” she said. “ _We’re on the_ Hopskip’s _tail now; tracked them to the Corellian system with the help of some undercover CorSec agents. We can swing back and get you if it’s urgent—_ ”

“It’s fine,” said Faro. Behind her, the Mandalorian didn’t stir; evidently, he approved of her decision. “It’s more important that you stop them. We’ll survive here just fine in the meantime.”

“ _Yes, ma’am,_ ” said Hammerly. “ _Any orders?_ ”

Faro hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Silently, the Mandalorian shook his head.

“That’ll be all, Hammerly,” said Faro. “I’ll contact you if anything changes.”

“ _Aye, ma’am._ ”

The video feed fizzled away without another word, and as soon as it was gone, Faro switched her comlink into neutral mode. At the mouth of the alley, Vanto waved a slowing speeder away; the blue and gray paint job marked it as a local taxi. After checking once more to make sure the coast was clear, Vanto circled back to them, using the same rolling gait he’d adopted at the start of their mission.

The three of them huddled together, squeezing into the alcove where they were — for the most part — out of sight.

“You alright under there, sir?” Faro asked, her voice hushed.

From inside the Mandalorian armor, Thrawn said, “I’ll survive.”

Vanto winced at that; privately, Faro shared his sense of chagrin. It was always stressful to go undercover, no matter who you were, but for Thrawn — who had to cover his blue skin and red eyes _somehow_ — a simple undercover mission might translate to days at a time with limited or no access to food or water. They’d been on Corulag for almost seventy-two standard hours now, and Thrawn hadn’t taken his helmet off once. He simply never got the chance.

“Game plan?” Vanto asked, and Faro noticed that his eyes were on her — like Thrawn ceded all authority when he was playing dress-up.

She grimaced. “I don’t suppose a hotel is in order?”

“Around here?” Vanto asked, eyebrows raised. At the same time, his voice toneless, Thrawn said,

“I was unable to secure funding for a prolonged stay. High Command was not pleased with this mission plan.”

Faro snorted. “Yeah, well, when are they ever pleased with your plans?”

Thrawn didn’t respond, perhaps too exhausted to share her amusement. Even Vanto didn’t crack a smile; his brow was furrowed as he thought it through.

“Well, surely between the three of us, we’ve got the personal funds for a hotel stay,” he said, glancing around. Faro said nothing, blushing a little at the thought of her bank account; she’d sent a good portion of this month’s pay to her father and sister on Metellos, leaving her with little in the way of petty cash so they could make a down payment on a new courier. She noticed Vanto wasn’t volunteering his money, either, rather looking around anxiously at her and Thrawn. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he got defensive.

“Look, I was an _ensign_ until a few months ago, so—”

“My funds,” Thrawn cut in, his voice sounding strange through the helmet’s vocorder, “are regrettably tied up at the moment in other ventures.”

When they both gave him disbelieving looks, he turned away, angling his helmet toward the mouth of the alley.

“Commander Hammerly’s undercover CorSec agent may have tipped me off to a series of Selonian paintings available for sale at the Corellian Museum of Fine Art,” Thrawn admitted. “They are not overly expensive; however, with the rest of my finances in the TIE Defender plant…”

“You’re talking about the Selonian _nudes?_ ” Vanto said, sounding absolutely scandalized.

“Selonians,” said Thrawn in an aside to Faro, “are a large musteline species. Their culture values privacy greatly; for any of them to pose for a nude portrait—”

“Thanks, I’m good, sir,” said Faro, holding up a hand and turning her face away in disgust.

“The artist covers _only_ the subject’s face, you see, to represent—”

“Yes, thank you, moving on.”

A bit huffily, Thrawn gestured toward Vanto. “Even as a five-year ensign, you should have _some_ funds in savings.”

“Yeah, not nearly as much as a _Grand Admiral_ should have,” Vanto shot back. “And anyway, remember two months ago when you asked me to look into the price for a hyperdrive workshop on Rulnagua VI? Yeah, that didn’t come cheap. And you bet your ass _High Command_ wasn’t gonna cover it.” 

“So, we’re all broke,” Faro said, neatly summarizing the issue. She detected a hint of shame in Vanto’s posture and more than a little stubborn pride in Thrawn’s — apparently, he wasn’t going to regret those Selonian nudes anytime soon. She hoped he’d hang them up near his office holopod so she could at least enjoy the scandalized look on Pryce’s face when she saw them. 

“So what are our options, then?” she asked.

Vanto hesitated, biting his lip. “Strictly speaking, you and I don’t necessarily need disguises anymore,” he said, gesturing to Faro. “But you, sir—”

“It would not be wise,” Thrawn agreed. He leaned back against the permacrete wall, his posture impossible to read beneath the armor. “Perhaps we can locate an abandoned warehouse or condemned building…”

Faro grimaced again, already shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No, it’s not worth the risk. How about this, sir — the only one they’re targeting is you, right?”

It was a long moment before Thrawn responded; he seemed to be thinking it over.

“It does not appear,” he said eventually, “that the Black Sun has any particular quarrel with _other_ Imperial officers, no. Their animosity seems rather squarely centered on me.”

Well, he _was_ the one who dismantled the Orosian branch, Faro thought. And he’d done it when he was still just a captain, too, before his name was ever attached to hers, the _Chimaera,_ or the Seventh Fleet. Of course, she was sure Vanto had had some part in that operation, but it wasn’t like Black Sun knew that; ensigns weren’t typically named in after-action reports, and he’d been under a stormtrooper helmet the whole time.

Unlike Thrawn, whose alien features combined with his decimating battle tactics and unusually high Imperial rank had cemented him in the Black Sun’s memory since the very beginning.

“Okay,” said Faro, sneaking another glance at the alleyway. “So if they’re not after Vanto, and they’re not after me…”

She could feel Vanto tensing up beside her; most likely he thought Faro was about to suggest they let Thrawn fend for himself.

“...then I don’t see any reason why we can’t just stay at my mom’s house until the _Chimaera’s_ ready,” Faro finished.

Vanto stared at her for a long moment, his face frozen as he recalibrated and absorbed this information.

“Your family lives here?” he asked. Faro looked sideways at him and shrugged. 

“My mom’s side, yeah.”

“And she will be amenable to sheltering us?” Thrawn asked. From the tone of his voice, Faro guessed he’d read her personnel file and already knew she was from Corulag. He didn’t seem surprised at all; she’d suspected from the beginning that her early life here was part of the reason he’d brought her along. Perhaps he’d thought she had some local street knowledge that would help them through their mission, though in the end it hadn’t turned out that way. It wasn’t like she knew the entire planet by heart.

“Mom’s always looking for a chance to visit,” said Faro with another shrug. “The only reason she might be unhappy is because I didn’t call first and give her a chance to prep the guest room.”

Thrawn seemed to accept this without question; Vanto, however, had narrowed his eyes, apparently not trusting Faro’s assessment of her own mother.

“And would she still be okay with it if she knew the danger it involved?” he asked her.

With a metallic creak of his helmet, Thrawn turned to look at Faro. She bit her lip, giving the issue some more thought. Certainly, her mother wouldn’t mind the danger — in fact, like most mothers, she’d feel better knowing Faro had come to her rather than brave the streets while the Black Sun was looking for the three of them. But could Faro allow the potential risk (slim as it was) to her mother if things went south?

“What do you suppose the likelihood is, sir, that we’ll be attacked?” Faro asked Thrawn.

He paused to think before responding. “Life-threatening danger is highly unlikely,” he said, “as the past six hours have confirmed we are not being tracked. So long as we change our disguises — rather, your disguises — before leaving this alleyway, I believe the danger to your family will be minimal. Of course, every mission carries with it a certain risk. If you are anxious over _my_ well-being were I left to my own device, I assure you I will be quite fine—”

Making eye contact with each other, Faro and Vanto silently decided not to let Thrawn declare his willingness to die of dehydration in an abandoned warehouse somewhere.

“That’s settled then,” said Vanto, who was more comfortable with interrupting his C.O. than Faro was. “Let’s get changed and go.”

Thrawn edged out of the alcove, giving them the room they needed to disappear inside it. Using water from her canteen, Faro soaked a cloth and removed the anti-surveillance makeup pattern on her face, leaving the rag covered in an uncomfortable-looking mix of flesh-toned splotches. Next to her, Vanto did the same thing with considerably less grace and finesse; he seemed a little bewildered at how difficult it was to remove face paint with nothing but water and a cloth.

He was still working on it when Faro shrugged out of her coat, turning it inside-out to reveal a sleek and clean high-fashion ensemble sewn on the interior panels. She pulled a headscarf out of one of the pockets, tying her hair up completely in it before she shrugged the new-old coat back on. Next to her, Vanto folded up his own makeup-blotched rag and tucked it away in his pocket, apparently giving up on the smudges of foundation still lining his jaw.

His transformation wasn’t much different from Faro’s; the simple tunic he wore could be turned inside out and tucked upward into his belt to create a fashionable shirt matching Faro’s. In a way, he was luckier than her; he grabbed hold of the seam in his trouser leg and shook it, and after a few minutes, the dull brown color shimmered into an eye-catching plum. Vanto grimaced at it, evidently not a fan of purple clothes, and smoothed down his hair.

“Good enough, I guess,” he muttered.

Faro nodded, adjusting the knot on her headscarf. “Let’s go.”

It went without saying that Thrawn couldn’t walk with them; he was far too conspicuous, especially striding along next to Faro and Vanto in their high-fashion ensembles. Instead, he marched straight through the alleyway ahead of them and disappeared into the streets, no doubt planning to follow them at a distance. Faro and Vanto gave him ten minutes to get situated, then ducked through an unlocked door in the alley and joined the swarm of travelers inside waiting for a shuttle. They were both lost immediately in the crowd, unnoticed by the dozens of other off-worlders as they made their way to the street entrance and left the building again. 

They made the trip in silence, both of them too exhausted from the last three days to speak. Faro was moving on auto-pilot, her feet dragging and her eyes fixed on the horizon as she led Vanto down the streets of Corulag. Neither of them could see Thrawn anywhere in the vicinity, but Faro didn’t doubt that he was there, following them just out of sight.

They walked for hours, not stopping once along the way. Faro had never wished for cab money more in her life — not even when she was a kid without a speeder of her own. The only thing that kept her from pausing at the night market to buy something — anything — to eat and drink was the knowledge that Thrawn was steadily walking along somewhere behind or ahead of her, unable to do the same. She and Vanto hadn’t exactly had _plenty_ of chances to eat and drink during this mission, but they _had_ at least had chances.

Finally, not long after two a.m., they reached the quiet, familiar neighborhood where Faro’s mother now lived. She walked the pedestrian platforms as casually as she could, intensely aware that a neighborhood like this didn’t get pedestrians at two a.m., that she and Vanto stood out like sore thumbs. She eyed the numbers on the houses surreptitiously, stopping finally at the locked entranceway of #465-Aurek.

Hesitating only for a moment, Faro pressed the access button. She felt leery about using the fingerprint scanner, though she knew it would let her in. Just in case someone was following them, she didn’t want them to know she’d been here before. 

After a long silence, during which Faro scanned the streets unsuccessfully for any sign of Thrawn, the lights in her mom’s house beamed on.

“Hello?” said a wary voice over the com.

Faro hesitated another moment, then shrugged off her worries. “It’s Karyn. I’m here with a friend.”

The pause was shorter this time. A flatscreen embedded in the doorway beneath a plastisteel protector came to life, showing a woman halfway between elderly and middle-age squinting into the camera lens.

“You’re not supposed to be on leave,” she said suspiciously, eyeing Faro and Vanto in turn. “Is this that Thrawn fellow I’ve heard so much about?”

Faro bit the inside of her cheek, desperately wishing her mom hadn’t said that. “No,” she said. “Thrawn isn’t here. It’s just me and—” She stopped herself from using Vanto’s rank or surname at the last second. “—Eli.”

“Now, I thought you were still stationed on the ISD _Inexorable_ ,” Faro’s mom said, her voice light and casual. Faro felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up at the sound of their code phrase.

“No, I am,” she said. “It just got back from the Abregado System.”

Vanto, to his credit, didn’t appear the least bit puzzled by this exchange. His face was stoic and his eyes alert as Faro’s mother unlocked the door, satisfied with her daughter’s answer. It was something they’d cooked up years ago, shortly before her mother moved from the low-class apartments on the other side of the planet. The code was simple: if Faro was really there to see her mom — if nothing was wrong — then she didn’t correct her about the name of her flagship. But if she was in some type of trouble — if, for example, a Rebel spy was standing just off-camera with his blaster pointed at Faro’s head — then she was to answer with the truth: “Actually, Mom, I’m on the _Chimaera_ now.”

Theoretically, this statement wouldn’t tip off any alarm bells for whoever she was with; if someone ever managed to capture her, it was likely they’d know the name of her ship anyway, so the code phrase really didn’t work the other way around. 

She pushed through the entranceway with Vanto following close behind — and still no sign of Thrawn. There was a narrow passage between the locked entrance and the front door of the Faro house, which was already sliding open by the time they reached it. Faro’s mother stood just inside, clad in her dressing gown with her hands on her hips and a frazzled smile on her face.

“Karyn,” she said warmly, pulling Faro into a hug.

“Mom,” Faro said. She returned the hug only briefly, not allowing herself to really enjoy it. Before it had really begun, she was pulling away and subtly pushing at her mother’s elbow, turning her to face Vanto. “This is Commander Eli Vanto. He’s stationed on the _Chimaera_ with me. Vanto, this is my mother, Bei.”

Bei stuck her hand out, opting for the standard Core World handshake, and Vanto readily obliged. His eyes were scanning the windows, each of them tinted dark for protection against the city lights. 

“You haven’t had any other visitors?” Faro asked. Bei, who had just opened her mouth to say something to Vanto — probably to ask if he was hungry — turned to her in surprise.

“You mean, tonight? Other than you?”

That was all the answer Faro needed. She grimaced, scanning the windows the same way Vanto had, even though she knew it was useless. “I’m gonna check the doors,” she said.

Bei let her go without any further questions — a simple sign of trust that Faro would have missed as a young adult but sorely appreciated now. She headed to the backdoor first and gave the area there a cursory glance; it faced the street, so she wasn’t exactly surprised to find nobody waiting outside. Quickly, she locked it and went through to the kitchen instead.

The door there opened into a narrow alleyway — it couldn’t even really be called an alley; it was more like a slim meter-wide space between Bei’s house and her neighbor’s — where Bei kept a collection of window boxes filled with plants. Outside, leaning quietly against the wall in his Mandalorian armor, was Thrawn. He glanced up when Faro opened the door and stepped inside without a word.

“Are the premises secure?” he asked as soon as the door was closed behind him. His left hand was poised over the release clasp on his right wrist, ready to unlock the gauntlet the moment Faro gave the word. 

“Yes, sir,” she said; Thrawn hit the button at the same time that Bei and Vanto entered through the hallway.

“Oh!” said Bei, coming up short. Her eyes darted half-accusingly to Faro, who gave a minute shrug to her mother and then gestured toward her to get Thrawn’s attention — as if she needed to. His helmet had already turned that way.

“Ah,” he said. “I see the resemblance; you both have thick hair, yet the individual strands are very fine.”

Bei’s facial expression seemed scrambled, like she didn’t quite know how to react to that. Faro had to hold back a somewhat bitter laugh — she knew the feeling.

“Mom,” she said as Thrawn pulled his gauntlets off, revealing glacial blue skin, “this is my commanding officer, Grand Admiral—”

“Thrawn!” Bei exclaimed, absolutely beaming. Thrawn seemed almost to falter at that; he paused for a second before taking his other gauntlet off and raising both hands to his helmet, blindly but unerringly finding the release clasp. The helmet came apart with a pneumatic hiss and he lifted it off his head, revealing sweat-dampened blue-black hair and the red, glowing eyes which so thoroughly intimidated his opponents. Bei took it all in at once, her expression frozen in a pleasant, baffled smile.

Perhaps Faro should have told her mother Thrawn was an alien. Somehow, it had never come up. She watched them both warily now, relatively sure Bei wouldn’t say anything offensive but worried all the same.

“Well,” said Bei finally, snatching Thrawn’s free hand in a firm Core World shake, “you look ready to drop dead.”

“Yes,” said Thrawn, his expression unchanging, “but I have a few days left still.”

“He hasn’t eaten in three days,” Faro added quickly, before Bei got the idea that Thrawn was dying of some incurable disease. She busied herself with the water dispenser, grabbing a clean glass from her mother’s cupboards.

“Three days?” Bei repeated, her tone coming out a little skeptical — this, as Faro knew only from long years of experience, was her mother’s ‘worried’ tone. Thrawn’s eyes were narrow as he studied Bei, so he didn’t notice Faro handing him the glass of water until she let the cool surface touch his fingertips. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking it at once. Apparently, he didn’t register the fact that Bei just asked him a question, because rather than answer it, he raised the glass of water to his lips and downed it all at once.

“Kriff’s sake,” Vanto muttered.

“ _Easy,_ ” said Faro, equally appalled. Unbothered, Thrawn moved past her to the water dispenser and filled his glass again. Vanto and Faro shared a look, half-worried and half-exasperated, and then Faro turned to her mother again, trying not to roll her eyes as the exasperation won out.

“We’ve been on a mission,” she explained. “Had to be undercover for it. Vanto and I were fine with just some facepaint, but he—” She gestured over her shoulder at Thrawn, whose eyes were flickering all around the kitchen as he sipped his second glass of water. “—hasn’t been able to take his helmet off in three days.”

All of this seemed to wash off Bei like water off a Mon Calamari’s back. “Poor dear,” she said, tutting. Then, brightly, she said, “You didn’t tell me your Grand Admiral was so handsome, Karyn.”

Thrawn studiously avoided everyone’s gaze, his eyebrows slightly raised as he scanned the kitchen. 

“Er, I—” said Faro. She was cut off when Bei bustled past her, grabbing Faro by the elbows to scoot her out of the way. 

“Well, I’m sure you’re starving, aren’t you?” Bei said, touching the small of Thrawn’s back as she brushed past him. Surely, Thrawn couldn’t feel it beneath his Mandalorian armor, but he shot Faro a puzzled look as if he did. 

_Sorry,_ Faro mouthed, completely mortified. Thrawn seemed to shrug it off, turning to watch Bei as she bustled about searching for her favorite skillet.

“You ever had Corulag rokei?” Bei asked. Thrawn followed her every move with his eyes; he was a little slow in responding, and Faro had the feeling he was trying to figure out what would be the most polite thing to say in this situation, when his host was trying to cook him a homemade meal at two a.m. Unfortunately for Thrawn, etiquette had never been his strong suit.

“I have never had any sort of rokei,” he said eventually, going with what he probably saw as the safest option.

Clearly, he was wrong. Bei abandoned her skillet at once, turning to Thrawn in a flurry of wide-eyed concern.

“Oh, dear, if you want something else—” she started.

“He’s fine, Mom,” Faro cut in, noting the alarmed expression on Thrawn’s face. “Sir, if you’d rather get some sleep, I’m sure we have some ration bars around here somewhere.”

Thrawn looked conflicted, something Faro empathized with 100%. Half of her insisted that Thrawn get a proper meal before he collapsed; the other half was embarrassed by the very concept of showing up at her mother’s house at two a.m. and demanding a fully cooked meal.

Bei settled the issue for them, taking her skillet up again.

“Ration bars, my ass,” she said. “The boy hasn’t had a thing to eat in three days and you want me to feed him ration bars? What kind of mother do you think I am?”

From the doorway, Vanto stifled a snort — probably thrown just as off-balance as Faro was by hearing Grand Admiral Thrawn called a ‘boy.’ With his smooth, blue skin and no other Chiss to compare him to, it was impossible to tell his age; he could have been older than Bei or younger than Faro, for all she knew — though her money was on the former, if she had to bet.

Still, Thrawn seemed happy with the assessment. “What is Corulag rokei?” he asked, folding himself into one of Bei’s sturdy kitchen chairs and crossing his legs.

“Sauteed noodles and local veggies,” Bei told him, “mixed with rokei sauce.” Catching the curiosity on Thrawn’s face before he could even form a question, she rushed to explain. “That’s a mixture of sayo sauce with cantha oil, plus some minced Uuqkeb, some chopped fine henhra, a bit of vegetable broth — Karyn, why don’t you go find some real clothes for Thrawn so he can get out of that dreadful armor? — some rokei vinegar and a good deal of reqebha if you like it spicy—”

Faro turned away from the kitchen with a roll of her eyes, beckoning for Vanto to follow her. It had been a while since she visited her mother, but the house was largely unchanged. She led Vanto through the halls to the guest room, where Bei kept boxes full of useless items she’d collected over the years. 

“I can probably find some sleepwear for you while we’re at it,” Faro said to Vanto. He nodded, not seeming to care either way, and followed her into the cramped little room. Faro checked the closet first, pulling out a few gender-neutral items of her mother’s that would fit Vanto well enough, considering how slim and short he was. He caught an athletic shirt she threw his way and gave it a dead-eyed stare, not really seeming to notice what it was.

“Your mom definitely took a liking to him,” Vanto said. 

Faro snorted. “She always hated my friends growing up. Figures she’d change her mind now.”

Vanto took a few steps back from her, his eyes roving over the unpacked cardboard crates in the room. After a long moment of hesitation, clearly warring with himself over whether or not to say something, he turned back to Faro and said, “It must be a nice change for him, though.”

Faro paused with her hand on a hanger. She didn’t know what to say to that; it was certainly true, though. This was the first time she’d ever seen Thrawn get a warm reception from anyone — and she hadn’t even prepared her mom for his appearance first. 

She forced herself to keep moving, flipping from one hanger to the next in search of something suitable. “Yeah,” she said, five minutes too late and more than a little lamely. Luckily, Vanto didn’t seem inclined to comment on it.

“My parents hated him,” he said matter-of-factly, pulling open an old crate. Done with the closet, Faro joined him, slicing through the celloplast on another crate with her knife.

“I didn’t know he met your parents,” she said, frowning. “I figured Wild Spacers would be more … _accustomed_ to aliens than Core Worlders.”

“Aliens, sure,” Vanto said with a shrug. “Chiss, no. And it didn’t help that he pulled me off the supply officer track when that was the whole reason I joined — my parents run a shipping company back home. They figured I’d come back someday with all sorts of inside secrets to help them out, and instead I spent five years as Thrawn’s aide.”

He pulled a worn-looking long-sleeved shirt from the box, holding it up for Faro’s approval. She recognized the stripes immediately; it had belonged to her older brother when he was still at university, before he’d joined the local security force. 

“Think that’ll fit him?” she asked.

Vanto turned it around and held it up to his own chest, tucking his chin in to look down at it. “I think so.”

“It was my brother’s,” Faro said, eyeing it skeptically. “He was only about one-point-eight meters tall.”

“Thrawn’s not that big, either,” Vanto assured her. “He just _looks_ big. Trust me, I order all his uniforms for him.”

Faro nodded, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, and Vanto tossed the shirt onto the nearby bed. “Anything else in that box?” Faro asked. 

Instead of answering, Vanto silently extracted a pair of plain black trousers, cheap and nondescript enough to ensure they were never totally out of style. He folded the waistband back, checking the tag. “These’ll work,” he said. “They’re a little big, but....”

Faro raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? What’s his waist size, then?”

“You wanna feel bad about yourself today?” Vanto asked, grabbing the shirt off the bed.

“No.”

“Then don’t ask.” He handed both items to Faro, his own clothes folded neatly over his arm. “Whose clothes did you give me, by the way?”

Faro gave him a sharp grin. “Wanna feel bad about yourself?”

Vanto grimaced. “Okay, forget I asked. We’d better get back before Thrawn accidentally stumbles on the highest insult you can possibly give to a person on Corulag.”

Assuming he hasn’t already, Faro thought. She let Vanto go out ahead of her, staying behind to dim the lights and close the door. At her direction, he veered off toward the fresher so he could change, leaving Faro alone to run damage control between her mom and Thrawn. She stepped into the kitchen gingerly, not quite sure what she would find—

—and accidentally kicked a chest plate made of beskar steel across the floor. Faro stared down at it for a moment, failing to comprehend and absolutely certain that she didn’t want to look up. The chest plate wasn’t the only piece of armor abandoned on the ground; Thrawn’s gauntlets and helmet were arranged neatly against the wall, which wasn’t unexpected, but the rest of his armor was there, too, the arm and leg shields all abandoned along with his clunky metal boots. 

Reluctantly, Faro forced herself to raise her eyes. To her immense relief, there wasn’t anything indecent going on — not that she’d _expected_ anything indecent, but still. Thrawn leaned on the counter near Bei, watching intently as she prepared the rokei noodles. He wore the uniform-standard Imperial underclothes: a form-fitting sleeveless shirt and short athletic pants typically worn by stormtroopers underneath their armor. 

He didn’t glance up as Faro came in, even when she kicked the chest plate by mistake.The tense line of his shoulders broadcasted — practically screamed, actually — that he was starving and doing his very best not to show it, masking his hunger with an almost comical amount of interest in Bei’s cooking methods.

“You said your grandmother taught you this method?” he asked, looking pained as he indicated the noodles. 

“Oh, yes,” said Bei. She glanced sideways at Faro, her eyes immediately falling on the bundle of clothing in her arms. “Ah, here we are,” she said, touching Thrawn’s bare shoulder with her free hand. Thrawn turned, not seeming to mind the touch at all — in fact, he seemed to enjoy it, an observation which set Faro’s eye to twitching.

She handed the clothes to Thrawn, shooting her mother a pointless glare as she did so. “I can show you the ‘fresher, sir, if you’d like to shower first,” she said, no trace of irritation in her voice. 

“Thank you, Commodore,” said Thrawn. “I know the way.”

But he still hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Bei — or more accurately, at the skillet of sizzling noodles and rokei sauce. 

“It’ll be twenty minutes at least, dear,” Bei assured him. “You’ve got plenty of time.” 

Wordlessly, Thrawn left the room, brushing past Faro on his way. He gave her a silent nod of thanks, his face unreadable, and then he was gone. Alone with her mother, Faro sidled up to the massive heating unit in the corner of the kitchen, taking Thrawn’s place at the counter.

“Are you flirting with my commanding officer?” she whispered.

Bei shot her a genuinely horrified look, and Faro immediately felt bad about asking.

“I’m not _flirting_ with that poor child,” Bei said. “Are you out of your mind? _You’re_ the one who brought him here all dehydrated and half-starved to death, and now you get mad at me for making him some food?”

Faro backed off instantly, holding her hands up in the universal gesture for peace. “You’re right, Mom, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that most people don’t react like that to him. Usually, people hate him right off the bat.”

Bei’s face settled into a neutral expression that indicated she didn’t believe Faro at all. “He seems perfectly lovely to me,” she said.

“Really?” Faro tried to keep her voice neutral as well. “He didn’t strike you as a little rude?”

“ _Karyn_.” Bei grabbed a rubber serving spoon out of a nearby display and gently rapped Faro’s knuckles with it. It didn’t hurt in the slightest. “He’s a perfect gentleman. You can tell his mother raised him right.”

Faro gave a noncommittal hum. She’d never been sure herself whether Thrawn was actually rude to people on purpose or if he was just peculiarly honest and didn’t understand the consequences of saying some of his thoughts out loud; apparently Bei had settled on _honest_ right away — but then again, _she’d_ never had to proofread one of Thrawn’s scathing messages to Governor Pryce.

“You’re making enough for all of us, right?” Faro asked, leaning over to check the saucepan. “Why’s it smell like c’esta spice?”

“Oh, those are the cookies,” said Bei, gesturing to the oven. “He says he doesn’t like sweet things, but I told him c’esta spice cookies have more of a _sting_ to them and he said he’d try them out.”

Faro stared at her mom for a long moment, completely speechless, and then just shook her head. Vanto padded through the door in his bare feet a moment later, looking unspeakably weary now that he was in his pajamas — or rather, Bei’s pajamas — and gravitating toward the stovetop with a sort of exhausted interest. He caught Faro’s eye as he walked past, giving her a meaningful look to indicate he had something to tell her.

Quickly, Faro examined her options. If she invented an excuse to walk out of the room with Vanto now, Bei would definitely notice — especially since Vanto had only just arrived. It would be far less suspicious to propel her mother, however briefly, from the room. Unfortunately, she was as exhausted as Vanto and Thrawn were, and her brain was working so sluggishly that she could only think of one solution.

She stiffened, making sure the movement was obvious enough to catch Bei’s eye but not exaggerated enough for Bei to know it was fake. Turning to look at the open doorway, Faro said, “Did you hear that?”

Vanto followed her gaze, catching on exceptionally fast. “That crashing noise?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Faro, furrowing her eyebrows. She could see Bei looking between her and Vanto out of the corner of her eye. “Sounded like it was coming from the fresher.”

“Aw … darn,” said Vanto, apparently deciding at the last moment that he shouldn’t say ‘kriff’ in front of Faro’s mom. He grabbed his shoulder, rolling it as if he were in great pain. “I wonder if he needs help.”

“Well, I’d send _you_ , but with that shot you took to the arm…” said Faro.

Bei pushed her stirring spoon into Faro’s hands, apparently having heard enough. “You take over,” she said urgently, bustling out of the kitchen. “I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

She trotted out at a brisk jog, leaving Vanto and Faro temporarily alone. Vanto stepped up to the counter, obviously cognizant of the fact that they didn’t have a lot of time before Bei knocked on the door and found out Thrawn was okay.

“He’s extremely confused,” Vanto said lowly, leaning close so Faro could hear. “And I don’t know your mother well enough to answer his questions.”

Brow furrowed, Faro moved between the pot of noodles and the skillet of vegetables, stirring each one in turn. “What’s he confused about?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s pitched the idea that she might be some sort of Rebel spy,” Vanto said, carefully hiding his amusement. “He’s not at all convinced that any real mom would fawn over him the way yours is — so I told him about that code phrase y’all have, tried to explain that it’s kind of a motherly hallmark in this part of the galaxy to feed hungry guests with home-cooked food. He nodded, so I thought he was getting it, but then he said ‘that makes this the ideal cover for a poisoning attempt.’”

Faro frowned. Down the hall, she heard her mother knock on the ‘fresher door and say something to Thrawn; Faro couldn’t quite make out the words.

“I guess siccing her on him in the bathroom probably wasn’t the best way to handle this, then,” she said.

“Yeah,” Vanto said, his eyes tracking to the kitchen door. “I don’t know. To be honest, I think he’s just flustered about it, so he’s trying to find a nefarious sub-motivation behind it all. I feel like Rebel counterintelligence tactics probably make more sense to him than your mom just baking him some c’esta spice cookies because she thinks he’ll like how they taste.”

“Hm,” Faro said. Briefly, she entertained the idea that Thrawn might have been born and raised in a lab somewhere, which would at least explain his lack of experience with parents. “Anything else?”

“Actually, there is one other thing,” Vanto admitted. “Neither of us could figure out how to work the shower. But I figured your mom could help him with that.”

“ _Thrawn_ doesn’t know how to work the shower?” Faro asked, the words coming out in a disbelieving hiss. “He puts _antique droids_ together in his spare time. What’s he doing, testing her to see how _nice_ she can be before she cracks and admits she’s a spy?”

Vanto gave an uncomfortable shrug, stepping back as Faro pushed the stirring spoon into his hands and brushed past him, leaning out the doorway to take a peek. Down the hall, the ‘fresher door was open, and she could see her mother bending over the intricate pipe system while Thrawn stood nearby, watching her with a towel wrapped around his hips.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Faro muttered, returning to the kitchen.

“Please note,” said Vanto, who had stationed himself at the stove, “that Thrawn falling down in the shower is a medical emergency and must be tended to immediately, but _I’ve_ apparently been shot in the arm and that’s no big deal at all.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Faro assured him. Vanto ceded his position at the stove to her, passing her the stirring spoon with a grim frown.

“I have a feeling he’s gonna milk this for all he’s worth,” he said. “He can be a real shit when he knows somebody likes him. You weren’t there on the Orto Plutonia mission — the senator thought he was a Pantoran blinded by some terrible genetic disease and treated Thrawn like he was the most noble and tragic hero she’d ever met.”

Faro couldn’t be sure which senator he meant, so she pictured each of the senators from the Orto Plutonia area and wrinkled her nose. “And he enjoyed that?”

“He said it’s nice to be appreciated,” said Vanto a little sourly. They changed the subject abruptly when they heard Bei’s footsteps coming back down the hall. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Faro said, putting some warmth into her voice. “They do say bacta heals some people more than others.”

Vanto nodded just as Bei reached the door. He rolled his shoulder, this time showcasing how smoothly it moved. “Yeah, I don’t know why,” he said. “It just works magic on all the Vantos. We’re easy healers, I guess.”

They both nodded to Bei, pretending that her entrance gave them pause.

“Is he alright?” asked Vanto.

“Oh, no,” said Bei airily, breezing past them both to tend to the food. “He’s cracked his head open. Perhaps one of _you_ should go knock the door down this time.”

Faro sent a chagrined look Vanto’s way, only to find that he’d turned beet-red in shame.

“Luckily the poor dear is used to people pulling mean-spirited jokes,” said Bei, giving Faro the evil eye — and passing over Vanto, Faro noticed. Probably because he was still a guest, even if he wasn’t as charming as Bei evidently found Thrawn. “He told me _very_ specifically not to scold you about it.”

“He did?” asked Faro doubtfully.

Bei shook the skillet full of vegetables and pulled them off the heating ring with a sniff. “He did. ‘I’m sure they had their reasons,’ that’s what he said. Personally—” Her voice dropped into a sanctimonious mutter that Faro had heard a million times from her mother and never once from anybody else. “—I thought I raised my children better than to pull humiliating pranks on aliens, but _apparently—_ ”

“Oh, kriff, Mom,” Faro said, throwing her head back. “We weren’t pulling a prank on him. We were just trying to get you out of the room.”

Vanto shot her a wide-eyed sideways look, subtly shaking his head. Faro sympathized with him, but she really didn’t see any other way out of it.

“The Grand Admiral had some personal questions for Commander Vanto,” she said delicately, trying to explain what had happened in the least embarrassing way possible for everyone involved. “And he wouldn’t have wanted you to hear.”

“So you sent me in there to look at the poor boy naked?” Bei asked, as wide-eyed now as Vanto had been a moment ago.

“Well, I didn’t think he’d open the _door_ ,” said Faro. She watched helplessly as Bei started plating the food, shaking her head and tutting under her breath the entire time. Despite the exaggerated show of disappointment, though, Faro could tell Bei was mollified by the vague explanation of Thrawn having ‘personal’ questions. God only knew what Bei was imagining, but it played on her protective side enough to guarantee she wouldn’t belabor the issue when Thrawn returned.

A little less than twenty minutes later, when the rokei noodles and spice cookies were completely done, Thrawn emerged from the shower wearing the clothes Faro and Vanto had picked out for him. 

“Oh, look at you,” Bei cooed as soon as Thrawn entered the room. She seemed oblivious to the stifled groans of exasperation from both Faro and Vanto; Thrawn faltered a little at the sound of her voice, then continued to the table and took a seat between his subordinates, looking ludicrously flattered and smug.

“Here,” said Bei, delivering each of the plates to the table. She set Thrawn’s down in front of him first — of course — and then went to retrieve the sheet of c’esta spice cookies. These she placed in the center of the table … but still a little closer to Thrawn than to the others. “Eat up,” she said.

To Faro’s surprise, Thrawn ate slowly and without much of an appetite, taking his time with every bite and sipping egregious amounts of water in-between. It was clear he was still suffering the effects of three days straight of dehydration — and likely feeling too nauseous to eat much as a result — but Faro couldn’t be sure if her mother would know that. 

She shot Bei a sneaky look and saw immediately that it didn’t matter. Whether she knew why he wasn’t wolfing down the rokei noodles or not, Bei was watching Thrawn eat with nothing but deepest sympathy on her face, like she’d found a little lost wolf cub and was lovingly nursing it back to health.

“Don’t force yourself to eat it if you can’t stomach it, dear,” said Bei gently, reaching out to touch Thrawn’s hand. His face seemed to freeze, his eyes tracking her hand as it approached his, but he didn’t move out of the way. “I don’t want you getting sick. You can always eat tomorrow.”

Vanto muttered something under his breath at that. Faro couldn’t guess his exact words, but she had a pretty good idea of the general sentiment — and apparently, Thrawn did, too, because he was now looking at Bei with a sort of pained wariness, as though he couldn’t quite parse out her motivation here. He glanced at Faro and for a moment she thought he was about to ask her for clarification, but then he turned to Bei again and said, very carefully,

“If it is … agreeable to you, I would like to get some rest.”

Across the table from Faro, Vanto’s face seemed to melt into a look of pure disbelief and aggravation. 

“Of course that’s agreeable to me,” said Bei with a smile. She turned to face Vanto for what Faro suspected was the first time tonight. “Now, we haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements yet, so here’s the deal. We’ve got two beds — mine and the one in the spare room — and one sofa in the living area. It’s not very big, I’m afraid, and it’s dreadfully uncomfortable to sleep in. You’d have to sleep curled up on your side — even you, Eli. So if it’s okay with you boys, I thought perhaps Karyn and I could share my bed, and you could split the one in the spare room.”

Vanto’s face turned beet red again; he looked horrified, like Darth Vader had just commanded him to sleep with the Emperor. Faro was struggling not to grimace, too, privately weighing the pros and cons of sleeping on the couch. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would rather share a bed — platonically, of course — with one of her colleagues than with her mother. 

“That will be sufficient,” said Thrawn smoothly, pushing his plate away. He apparently didn’t notice either Vanto’s or Faro’s distress. “Commander Vanto and I have shared quarters before.”

He seemed to miss the betrayed glare Vanto shot him at that. Already, he was standing up and taking his plate with him, his eyes scanning the room briefly before alighting — somehow, miraculously — on the closed cupboard where Bei kept her lock-seal dishes. He started toward it, no doubt intending to preserve his food for tomorrow, but Bei neatly sidestepped him and took the plate from his hands.

“I’ll handle that, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing Thrawn’s forearm as she moved away. “You go get some sleep.”

Thrawn glanced at Faro, his expression impossible to read, then at Vanto, who openly rolled his eyes as he finished off his food. Thrawn’s normally sharp posture seemed to sag, exhaustion weighing heavily on him.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his eyes flicking between Faro and Vanto. 

Suddenly feeling guilty, Faro nodded. It wasn’t Thrawn’s fault her mother had taken such a ridiculously keen liking to him; in fact, if she knew her mom, she’d probably picked up on the fact that Thrawn wasn’t well-liked right away and was trying to make up for it somehow, never realizing how awkward it seemed to everyone involved.

When Vanto nodded, too, Thrawn seemed to accept it.

“Sleep well, then,” he said, inclining his head toward Bei before looking back at Faro and nodding at her, too. His hand moved slightly as he stepped back from the table, and it was only then that Faro realized he’d been subtly leaning on it for support. He looked mostly normal, Faro noticed as he brushed past her — mostly alert — but his feet dragged silently on the floor as he rounded the table.

...and bumped right into Bei, who was blocking his path with her arms opened wide and a no-nonsense look on his face.

“Oh, hell,” Faro muttered.

“No one gets past me without a hug,” said Bei firmly. 

Thrawn blinked down at her, uncomprehending. She kept her arms out but waggled her fingers.

“Come on,” she said, using the same voice on Thrawn that she used when coaxing stray animals to her door. “I don’t bite.”

Faro opened her mouth, embarrassed for both of them and ready to protest on the Grand Admiral’s behalf, when suddenly Thrawn leaned forward and positively melted into Bei’s embrace, letting her wrap her arms around him. She put one hand in his hair, guiding his head to the crook of her shoulder, while Faro and Vanto watched it all, their mouths open, each of them equally scandalized. 

“There, now,” said Bei, patting Thrawn on the back. “That’s not so bad.”

It was thirty hellacious seconds before Thrawn pulled away. Faro counted every single one of them; it was the only function her brain seemed capable of performing. As he straightened up, Thrawn’s face was absolutely inscrutable — the picture of Imperial dignity as he bid them all a final goodnight and left the room.

Oblivious to the fact that she’d just hugged a Grand Admiral, Bei went about washing the dishes, humming a popular song from when Faro was young. Vanto caught Faro’s eye and she shook her head, silently agreeing — she couldn’t believe what she’d seen, either.

* * *

That night, as she lay uncomfortably next to her sleeping mother and tried to ignore the pervasive scent of Vik’s Vapo-fluid, Faro felt her comlink warm and cool in a subtle notification pattern. She glanced down at her wrist and saw a message from Vanto waiting to be read.

Eli_Vanto: _What the hell was that?_

Faro hesitated, making sure Bei was truly asleep before she typed out a response.

Karyn_Faro: _You were right. He’s milking this to all hell._

Vanto’s response seemed instantaneous.

_Eli_Vanto: I told you!_

Before she could finish her reply, Vanto had messaged her again.

_Eli_Vanto: I bet 1,000 credits that he was the MOST obnoxious teacher’s pet as a kid._

Faro stifled a snort. 

Karyn_Faro: _I don’t doubt it. Why can’t he suck up to High Command like that?_

Eli_Vanto: _He’d have at least six more courts-martial under his belt if he even tried._

Karyn_Faro: _Notice that she didn’t attempt to hug_ you _on your way out._

Vanto didn’t reply right away, leaving Faro to stare silently up at the dark ceiling. At some point in the past few years, her mother had undertaken some sort of DIY spackling project that left the walls and ceiling looking like some gigantic alien creature had spattered its gunk all over the place and left it to dry. Faro grimaced up at it for a long moment; if she’d been home, she would’ve put the kibosh on that project right away.

Could Thrawn deduce things about people based off their home decor? She supposed he probably could. It was similar enough to art that it made sense. What was he deducing about her mother, then? From the cheesy mass-produced art prints on the walls to the hideous color schemes, Faro could only imagine it wasn’t good — yet he seemed to like her well enough. In fact, he seemed to positively preen under her attention, like a love-starved Pellosian finally meeting its mate.

Ew. She did _not_ want to think about that.

 _What’s the admiral doing?_ she texted Vanto. 

It was a long moment before her comlink warmed and cooled with his response. She held her wrist up over her face, staring blearily at the holo Vanto had sent her. It showed Thrawn sprawled out beneath her grandmother’s old floral bedspread, his lips parted just slightly and his blue-black hair tangled from sleep.

 _Knocked out,_ Vanto said.

And hogging the bed, Faro noted. Blankets, too. From the angle of the photo, she guessed Vanto was curled up in the dusty old armchair on the other side of the room. 

_Sorry,_ she told Vanto with a grimace.

_Don’t worry about it. It gives me something to hold over his head._

_Something other than the Selonian nudes?_ Faro replied. 

She was still waiting on Vanto’s response when her mother’s deep, even breathing abruptly cut off and she lifted her head, squinting at the pale blue glow from Faro’s comlink. Guiltily, Faro shut the comm off, folding her hands beneath her head so she wouldn’t be tempted to use it again.

“Texting your boyfriend, eh?” said Bei knowingly, her voice muzzled from sleep.

“I don’t even want to know which one you think is my boyfriend,” Faro said. 

* * *

Despite getting less sleep than either Faro or Vanto throughout their three-day mission, Thrawn was somehow up and about before anyone else that morning. When Faro woke, it was to sunlight streaming through the window and the faint sounds of her mother’s and Thrawn’s voices coming from somewhere down the hall, accompanied by the tinny noise of Bei’s favorite Mon Calamari opera record. 

“It is not that I dislike music,” she heard Thrawn saying as she pushed herself up onto her elbows and stretched, her hair tangled in front of her eyes. “I simply chose to pursue other talents.”

“Military service beats musical talent, hm?” said Bei knowingly. In the bedroom, Faro sunk back down onto her stomach, closing her eyes and relaxing as she tried to wake up. “Karyn was the same way. She was the first-chair trumpeter for her prep academy, you know.”

“I did not,” Thrawn said, sounding genuinely surprised. Probably because it wasn’t in Faro’s personnel file, so he couldn’t find it through ordinary run-of-the-mill snooping. “Yet she did not apply for the Imperial Band as a cadet?”

“Did you?” Bei shot back.

There was a pause while Thrawn digested the question, the silence filled only by the opera track. Reluctantly, Faro pushed herself up again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to massage a crick out of her neck. 

“In what capacity?” she heard Thrawn ask finally.

“As a musician, of course,” said Bei. “Unless you meant your musical talents veer more toward singing, in which case you always could have joined the Imperial choir. Imagine how nice that would look, an alien officer like yourself singing the anthem on Empire Day. Just think of the optics!”

Faro snorted; the mental picture of Thrawn in the hokey choir robes, singing his heart out live on the Holonet, was just too much to handle.

“No,” said Thrawn carefully. “I don’t believe I could do that.”

“Why not?” said Bei. “You went to Royal Imperial, didn’t you? They have a top-notch choir. A decent band, too. All you had to do is join.”

Faro brushed the hair back from her face and stood, gathering up the clothes she’d stolen from storage the day before. 

“I do not think it would have pleased the Emperor,” said Thrawn as she pushed open the door to the master refresher. Once inside, she couldn’t hear either of them anymore, giving her a taste of blissful silence as she turned the shower on. By the time she finished, she finally felt awake enough to face the day. She pulled her still-wet hair up into a loose bun — damn the consequences — and headed out to find her mom and Thrawn. 

She found Vanto first, hunched over a datapad at the kitchen table, his eyes hooded with deep creases etched into his face underneath. He nodded at her, lifting a lukewarm-looking cup of caf in greeting.

“Been up for a while?” Faro asked, grabbing a chipped mug from the cupboard.

“To be ‘up,’ one has to first go to sleep,” Vanto said. Faro shot him a wry look as she slotted her mug into the caf dispenser; he’d left the programming up on the screen, showing her the shot of Corulag whiskey he’d had added to his caf. She keyed it off with a smirk, putting a plain vanilla extract in her own.

“The Grand Admiral’s not a good roommate, then?” she said as steaming hot caf trickled into her mug. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Vanto giving her the evil eye.

“He’s a fine roommate,” he grumbled. “Assuming you have bunk beds, and the only qualifier for being a ‘good’ roommate is that he keeps the room clean enough to pass room inspections.”

“You guys had bunk beds at Royal Imperial?” Faro asked, eyebrows rising as she took a seat. She warmed her hands against the caf mug, inhaling the scent as it cooled a little. “On Corulag we just had these hard little plastisteel cots carved into the walls, like the bunks on an old Republic shuttle. The mattresses were _this_ thin.” 

She held her fingers a few centimeters apart, prompting a weary grin from Vanto.

“No, they treat us socialites well at Royal Imperial,” he said. “Only the best feather-stuffed mattresses for Coruscant’s elite.”

“Bet you had ice cream machines in the galley, too.”

She could tell from the quirk of Vanto’s lips that they did. He buried his nose in his caf mug so he wouldn’t have to answer. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Faro lifted her mug to her lips and sipped it; it was still a little too hot, but not quite bad enough to burn her. 

She could still hear the muffled voices of Thrawn and her mother in the other room. Cocking an eyebrow, she turned to Vanto. “What have they been talking about?” she asked.

He snorted softly. “Music,” he said. “Art. Holofilms. Sex.”

Faro choked on her caf, covering her mouth by reflex and spluttering through her fingers. “ _Sex?_ ” she hissed. “What do you mean?”

Vanto made a circle with his right hand and poked his left forefinger through it.

“Oh, come on,” Faro said, wiping her mouth. “I mean, what were they talking about? What was the context? Context is _key_ here, Vanto. Now more than ever. This is _vital_.”

“What, you’re worried Thrawn’s gonna date your mom?” asked Vanto innocently.

“At this point?” said Faro. “ _Kinda,_ yeah.”

She glanced over her shoulder belatedly to make sure neither of the offending parties were standing in the doorway behind her. The coast was clear.

“They weren’t talking about, like, _them_ having sex,” Vanto assured her. “Or at least, not with each other.”

This wasn’t exactly a comforting sentence to hear.

“I don’t remember how it started, exactly,” Vanto continued. “Your mom was talking about her favorite holos and she brought up _Out With the Tide_ —” A famous romance movie, now over 70 years old. “—and then I heard her accuse Thrawn of blushing which, you know how it is with his skin. Who knows if he was blushing or not? She was probably just teasing him. And when she called him on it, he just said there were some scenes in _Out With the Tide_ which wouldn’t be considered _polite_ on his homeworld, so…”

Vanto waved his hand vaguely, seeming to think this was a sufficient explanation.

“So…?” Faro prompted.

Vanto shrugged, draining his cup of caf. 

“So how does that lead to sex?” Faro demanded. “There’s no sex scene in _Out With the Tide_. The whole point of that movie is that nothing ever happens between them.”

“There isn’t even a kissing scene, is there?” said Vanto with another one-shouldered shrug. “I dunno. Maybe that’s how the conversation got started. Either way, they ended up talking about all the differences between us — I mean, Core Worlders, like you and your mom — and people from the Unknown Regions like Thrawn. In terms of sex, I mean.”

The most popular stereotype Faro had heard was that alien cultures were much more free, sexually, than humans. Faro had seen it dozens of times in holofilms and she’d read it just as many times in novels — the trope was especially common, unfortunately, in the cheap one-credit romances sold on the Holonet. Aliens were almost always depicted as relentlessly sensual and unabashedly horny, with elaborate sexual rituals designed to ensnare the naive protagonist in a night of fun.

It didn’t really surprise her to find out Thrawn’s species apparently balked at the idea of romance, though it did disappoint her a little in a strange way. She supposed the disappointment stemmed from the lost opportunity to learn about a culture vastly different from her own, like the ridiculous fictional cultures displayed in holos. 

It certainly couldn’t be anything else. 

“So what did they say?” she asked Vanto, bringing her voice down to a hushed murmur.

“You really think I wanted to eavesdrop on _your mom_ and the notoriously weird _Grand Admiral Thrawn_ as they talk about sex?” Vanto replied, not bothering to lower his voice at all. “No thanks. You wanna know, you can ask them yourself.”

“You’re useless,” Faro said. “What do you do on a surveillance mission? Just close your ears the moment someone mentions—”

She cut herself off as Bei’s footsteps approached from down the hall. By the time she reached the kitchen, Faro’s nose was buried innocently in her mug. 

“Are you two hungry?” Bei asked, grabbing the doorframe and leaning in but not quite entering the room. Before either Vanto or Faro could answer, she said, “There’s breakfast bars in the cupboards and eggs in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Faro’s eyes flicked toward the sink, where she could very clearly make out the dishes her mother must have used making a continental breakfast for Thrawn. 

“Thanks,” Vanto said. “That sounds great.”

Disinterested, Bei left the room.

“This is doing wonders for my self-esteem,” Vanto commented. “You know, once upon a time, Thrawn and I would go on missions and _I’d_ get all the attention. One time a pirate called me ‘Pretty Boy.’ Those were the days.”

Faro snorted. She pretended not to see it when Vanto studied his reflection in his comlink screen, gingerly touching a light wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

“You’re telling me the blue alien doesn’t normally get all the attention?” she asked, her gaze wandering out toward the den.

“You kidding me?” Vanto said. “Usually people just pretend he doesn’t exist. I mean, back at our first command — Captain Rossi, you ever met her?”

Faro made a face and nodded.

“Pretty much all he got back then was negative attention,” Vanto continued. “Me, on the other hand … I got a little flak for being his aide, and a little from being from Wild Space. But for the most part, so long as I was on my own, people treated me fine.”

Faro said nothing. She didn’t imagine Vanto had been on his own very often, just based on what she’d witnessed of his and Thrawn’s behavior onboard the _Chimaera._ But she also knew that he wouldn’t accept any condescending expressions of sympathy over that matter, so there wasn’t much she could say. 

She stood up and brushed past Vanto, refilling her mug of caf on the way. This time, after a moment’s hesitation, she decided to join him with a morning shot of whiskey. It wouldn’t affect her enough for Mom to notice, but it might loosen her up a little and make Bei’s ministrations toward Thrawn more bearable.

That was what alcoholics told themselves, Faro noted with some chagrin. 

She still put the whiskey in her caf, though.

* * *

Much to Faro’s consternation, when she and Vanto came through to the den with their refreshments in hand, Bei and Thrawn were curled up together on the loveseat. 

It didn’t count as cuddling, Faro told herself. She _had_ to tell herself that, because the very idea that it _might_ be cuddling set a vein pounding dangerously in her forehead. She took a deep breath (and a hefty sip of whiskey-laced caf) before taking another look at the situation.

Thrawn’s posture was a little awkward but not outright uncomfortable — he was lounging against the loveseat the same way he slouched in his command chair, but with one major difference: the line of his shoulders was subtly tense, closely mirroring his stance when he spoke to people at social functions. He held a datapad in his hands, scrolling through it to show Bei something — and Bei, taking advantage of the situation or perhaps just clueless on social standards when it came to alien Grand Admirals, was leaning over his shoulder to see, her thigh pressed up against Thrawn’s thigh, her right hand laid flat against his back. 

For support, Faro supposed. Hypothetically.

“ _Mom_ ,” she said with as much patience as she could muster. “What are you doing?”

Bei didn’t even have the good grace to glance up. “Thrawn’s showing me his art holos from Corulag,” she said absently. 

Thrawn, also not glancing up, tilted the datapad so Faro could see a print of calligraphy from the Old Zephani dialect, with the word for ‘devotion’ painted in such a way that it vaguely resembled a traditional Corulag memorial stone.

Well, that was grim. 

“We were about to watch a holo, too,” Bei said helpfully. 

Faro and Vanto shared a resigned look. “It’s not _Out With the Tide,_ is it?” Faro asked. 

She caught sight of a faint change in color around Thrawn’s cheeks and immediately sent a sharper look his way. Was he _blushing?_ Could he even do that? Had Bei been right earlier, when Vanto overheard her accusing Thrawn of the same thing?

“Oh, no,” said Bei. “We’ve already seen _Out With the Tide._ We thought we’d watch _The Reluctant Bride_ instead.”

Oh, fantastic. That one was even worse than _Out With the Tide._ Faro sent a helpless look Vanto’s way, but he only tightened his lips and shrugged. 

At least she had her datapad to keep her occupied. She briefly considered wedging herself between Thrawn and Bei and decided against it, instead flopping down on an armchair nearby. Next to her, Thrawn scrolled to another art holo and Bei leaned close to take a look.

“Now, you know what that one says?” Bei asked.

Faro winced. Of _course_ Thrawn knew what it said. His Old Zephani was probably way better than hers.

“Delight,” said Thrawn flatly. 

Bei gave an over-the-top gasp. “That’s right! Really, Karyn _told_ me how smart you are, but I had to see it for myself—”

“That’s not accurate,” Faro cut in, heat rushing to her face. “It’s not like I brag nonstop about how smart he is, Mom, I just said a mission went well once or twice.”

“Did I _say_ you bragged nonstop about him?” asked Bei, eyebrows raised.

“You did not,” said Thrawn tonelessly, still immersed in his datapad. He shifted slightly as Bei moved away from him to select _The Reluctant Bride_ from her vid library. She set it up on the projector and stood there a moment, listening to the flowery opening music and watching the credits scroll before she disappeared.

Going for her knitting, no doubt. The knitting closet — a ghastly walk-in space filled with shelves of nothing but yarn — was on the other side of the house, giving Faro enough time for a hushed conversation with her colleagues.

“You guys don’t really want to watch _The Reluctant Bride,_ do you?” she whispered.

Vanto grimaced. Thrawn’s eyes flicked up from his datapad, watching Faro speculatively.

“We have little control over our activities at the moment,” he said. “As we cannot leave the house, and as the house belongs to your mother…”

“Besides,” said Vanto with a shrug, “better this than _Out With the Tide._ ”

Thrawn’s facial expression twitched and then seemed to freeze. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Vanto.

“You don’t like _Out With the Tide?_ ” asked Faro, mildly surprised.

“You _do?_ ” Vanto shot back, his eyebrows raising.

“Well, it’s a good movie,” said Faro defensively. “I mean, trust me, I’m not the biggest fan of _romance_ movies—” She gestured to the projector, where the main actor was driving a primitive landspeeder down a comp-generated country landscape and singing a gratingly cheerful song about love at first sight. “—but _Out With the Tide_ is a masterpiece. Technically-speaking, I mean. The writing is excellent, the plot is tight, the acting is phenomenal—”

“It displays notable advances in videograph technique and holofilm technology,” Thrawn put in. “The director, Cal Morrinm, was from an Outer Rim planet with no film industry, and he had no formalized education himself, yet in many aspects he revolutionized the making of holofilms. Many of his shots and techniques are painstakingly copied today, seventy years after the fact.”

“ _Thank_ you, sir,” Faro said, gesturing toward Thrawn. Vanto just rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a boring film,” he said. “You have to at least admit that.”

Faro was so offended she sat up straighter in her chair, gripping the armrests for support. Thrawn glanced at Vanto briefly, his eyes narrowed. 

“It’s a war movie,” Vanto said, “and there’s only one fight scene, right at the end.”

“Well, that's because it’s _not_ a war movie,” Faro protested. “It’s a _military romance_ film. The whole point of the movie isn’t to wow the audience with badass fight scenes; it’s all about the repressed feelings between Vell and Crucy. _That’s_ where the focus is.”

Vanto scoffed, turning his gaze back to the romcom musical just as the main character bumped into his true love in a quaint Outer Rim town that was very different from the wretched hives of scum and villainy each of them had personally experienced there. 

“The whole plot is kind of silly, though,” he said. “Fraternization laws don’t really apply to high-ranking officers like that. Vell’s a commodore, isn’t he? And Crucy is his second officer, so they’re pretty much free to do whatever they want. They don’t need to sneak around about it.”

“It’s not about the fraternization laws,” Faro said. “It’s about the — you know —”

She floundered for a moment, gesturing vaguely as she did so, unsure how to put the concept into words.

“It’s about the loneliness of command,” Thrawn supplied for her. “A commanding officer cannot pursue romantic relationships with his subordinates; it impacts his ability to command. Which is the same overall theme,” he said pointedly to Vanto, “of _Space Adventures,_ which I happen to know you enjoy.”

“Ooh,” said Bei, returning to the room with her knitting basket before Vanto could shoot off a reply, “I love _Space Adventures!_ Do you know who that Lieutenant S’kask’vata reminds me of? You know, the alien officer with the green skin and the pointy ears?”

Faro and Vanto both looked at Thrawn, who stared at his datapad and pretended not to notice. Luckily, Bei either didn’t think she needed to clarify who she meant or she got distracted by the holofilm so quickly that she forgot to tell them. She sat down next to Thrawn, affording him more personal space this time, and began sorting through her knitting with her eyes fixed on the projector.

“What size are you, dear?” she asked Thrawn absently.

He eyed the yellow yarn in her hands and pursed his lips. 

“He’s a medium,” Vanto said. Faro could tell he was trying not to grin. 

“Yellow’s not my color,” said Thrawn quickly, apparently trying to run damage control. 

“Oh, I have _many_ colors,” Bei assured him. “What do you like? Black? White? Blue? You really should wear more blue, dear, with your skin it would be perfect for monochrome fashion — that’s all the rage with young folks around here. It has been since Karyn was a teenager.”

Faro grimaced. There were probably tons of unflattering holos still floating around depicting her in her trendy teenage years — on leave from the Academy as a young cadet, she’d taken any chances she could get to lean into fashion trends. Her favorite, she remembered, had been neon-wash hair dyes, which could be eradicated instantly with a special hairspray sold by the same brand — she’d spent ludicrous amounts of credits on those at age sixteen. 

She glanced surreptitiously at Vanto. He’d probably gone through some sort of space cowboy phase as a teen, so she was pretty sure he’d sympathize if Bei broke out the old holos. But Thrawn — it was difficult to imagine him succumbing to any trends. Knowing him, he was probably attending a military academy at that age, like she and Vanto had, and wore nothing but his uniform at all times. 

Bei rifled through her knitting basket, shifting the yellow yarn aside and pulling out an assortment of other colors. She held a burgundy skein up to Thrawn’s face while Thrawn held still, allowing her to study the contrast.

“Do you like burgundy?” she asked Thrawn, still holding up the yarn.

“Yes,” he said, smiling faintly. 

“And you like sweaters, don’t you?” Bei said, pulling the burgundy yarn away. 

“The _Chimaera_ is kept at a tolerable temperature for my species,” Thrawn said. This wasn’t exactly an answer — and neither Faro nor Vanto called him on it — but Bei didn’t seem to mind. She reached over and took Thrawn’s hand in hers, squeezing it once before pulling away.

“Your hands are freezing,” she said with the air of a detective making a masterful deduction. “Whether you like it or not, you certainly _need_ a sweater.”

Thrawn stared down at his hands as if they’d betrayed him. 

“If it makes you feel better,” said Bei, selecting her needles from a carrying case stuffed into the basket, “you can think of it as a tactical decision. If you wear a sweater, your hands won’t be cold. If your hands aren’t cold, they’ll be less likely to lock up in battle — like in _Out With the Tide,_ when Crucy’s hands lock up on her blaster.”

“That was from _adrenaline,_ Mom,” Faro said. “Not from the cold.”

“I don’t anticipate wearing a sweater to battle,” Thrawn added. “In any case, unless it is an arctic environment, a sweater will only provide an opponent something to grab onto in close combat.” 

“Then you can wear it in your office,” said Bei, undaunted, “and it’ll give you a strategic advantage by keeping your mind off the air conditioning temps when you’re planning out a battle. How’s that sound?”

“Lovely,” said Thrawn.

So far as Faro could tell, he wasn’t being sarcastic. She side-eyed him, then glanced over at Vanto and saw him wearing the same sour expression that must have been plastered on her face. Surreptitiously, she activated her comlink and typed out a message. 

_Karyn_Faro: You can just tell her you don’t want the sweater, sir. It’ll save her the effort and time._

Thrawn employed absolutely no subtlety in answering his comm. He stared at the screen for a moment, glanced blankly at Faro, and took his time typing out a reply.

_Thrawn: I want the sweater._

Faro huffed. 

_Thrawn: I appreciate any signs of hospitality from Imperial citizens, and particularly from the family of my second officer._

_Karyn_Faro: Even if it’s yellow?_

Thrawn pretended not to see the latest text. He turned his eyes studiously to the holoprojector as if he were suddenly immersed in the misadventures of the bright-eyed main actress, who was singing a flirtatious love song with the lead actor. Hiding a smile, Faro turned back to face the projector, too. 

The smile quickly twisted into a grimace of disgust. She just couldn’t take it — it was too sugary, too sanitized for her taste. Like artificial sweetener. Not to mention, the so-called “reluctant bride” didn’t seem all that reluctant to Faro — she’d only just met the main actor, and now she was head-over-heels in love with him, but playing hard-to-get for manufactured plot-related reasons Faro couldn’t quite follow.

Her eyes drifted down to her datapad, then to her comlink. Next to her, Thrawn was watching Bei knit with intense interest, his eyes flickering from one needle to the other as she worked. Under her breath, Bei narrated everything she was doing for him, keeping her voice low so Faro and Vanto could hear the holofilm’s ghastly dialogue.

On the projector, the man gave a roguish smile to his love interest and said, _You know, I could use a maid. A pretty little maid like you._

Faro winced. Across the room, tucked into his armchair and looking both bored and peevish, Vanto scoffed out a laugh. It was mere moments before Faro’s comlink gave a heated signal for an incoming message. She tilted her wrist toward her to read it.

_Eli_Vanto: Love it. Is this what Core Worlders think Outer Rim romance looks like, or is it just this one film?_

Faro glanced up at him and grimaced. _You seriously need to watch_ Out With the Tide _again,_ she messaged him. _Like, actually pay attention to it for once. It’s nothing like this. You’ve got this Outer Rim Commodore, Vell, who’s completely clawed his way to the top, and then you’ve got his Core World second officer, Commander Crucy, who’s supposed to be one of the first female officers to ever reach that rank. They fall in love, but they both repress it because of the damage it would do to Crucy’s career, and because Vell knows she would lose all respect for him as an officer if he ever acted on his feelings._

She tapped send and watched Vanto read the message and roll his eyes. 

_I’m not watching_ Out With the Tide, he messaged back. _I had to read the book in school. You couldn’t pay me to watch the holofilm again._

Faro felt heat rising inexplicably to her cheeks; she’d had to read the book when she was at the Academy — it had been one of the optional novels available in an advanced course on naval history — and she’d loved every word of it. She darkened her comlink screen, neglecting Vanto’s message entirely. 

A moment later, the heated signal went off again. Faro started to check it, then narrowed her eyes when she saw Thrawn and Vanto looking down at their comms, too.

The message wasn’t from either of them. It was from Hammerly. 

_The tracking device has been placed in the_ Hopskip’s _cargo,_ it said. _Vector appears to be set for the Shibric system. Orders?_

Faro shot a glance at Thrawn; opposite her, she saw Vanto do the same. But Thrawn’s eyes were now fixed on Bei’s knitting, a faraway expression on his face. After a moment, he looked directly at Faro.

“Excuse me,” he said to Bei, interrupting her stream of knitting instructions and staying her hand. “Commodore Faro and I have something to discuss. Is there a secure room in this house, preferably something without holocomms installed?”

“Oh,” said Bei, her eyebrows hitching up. “Well, yes, of course. There’s the refresher, the knitting closet — they’re both rather small, though. I could remove the holocomms from one of the bedrooms, if you like. There’s only one in the master.”

Thrawn was already standing, beckoning Faro to come with him. “We can remove it ourselves,” he said. “Thank you.”

“It’s a mission thing, isn’t it?” said Bei with a wry twist of her mouth. “You all looked at your comms just a moment ago. Message from the ship?”

“Yes,” said Thrawn simply. Faro got to her feet and stood next to Thrawn a tad awkwardly, waiting for her mother to stop asking questions. Thrawn, for his part, showed no sign of moving; he looked at Bei patiently, the same way he looked at ensigns who questioned his decisions — behavior that Faro still didn’t quite understand, but certainly respected.

“I suppose it’s top secret, isn’t it?” Bei said. “And rather urgent?”

Now Faro noticed the worried cast to her mother’s eyes. Guilt made her throat tighten, but she said nothing.

“It is,” Thrawn said. He glanced at Vanto, who was already buried deep in his datapad, poring through the _Hopskip’s_ cargo data. Then, looking back at Bei, he said, “I shall attempt to make this quick. I do not wish to be rude.”

Vanto’s head shot up, revealing a gobsmacked expression. Faro kept her own face blank, but privately she shared Vanto’s sense of disbelief; she’d never known Thrawn to shy away from rudeness.

Clearly, Bei didn’t know Thrawn quite well enough to understand the special treatment she was getting. She simply nodded, turning back to her knitting. “You two have fun, then,” she said.

So dismissed, Thrawn turned away, heading for the open entranceway that led back to the bedrooms. Faro turned, silently following Thrawn out. She was stopped in her tracks by her mother’s voice.

“And keep the door open!” Bei called cheerfully.

Mortified, Faro clutched the doorframe so she wouldn’t stumble and fall. She looked back over her shoulder at Bei, hyper-aware of Thrawn’s gaze on her. “ _Mom_ ,” she said.

“What? I’m just saying!”

Faro shot a horrified glance at Thrawn and immediately saw from the polite expression on his face that he didn’t understand what was going on. She had only half a second to feel relieved before she remembered that when Thrawn didn’t understand something, _Thrawn asked questions about it._

“Why must we keep the door open?” he asked Bei. 

She actually _winked_ at him, the worst possible answer. Thrawn studied her for a moment longer, then turned his questioning gaze on Faro.

“She thinks you two are gonna make out,” said Vanto from the other corner of the room, his helpful tone belied by the mischievous smile on his face as he stared down at his datapad

“Make out?” Thrawn repeated, putting emphasis in all the wrong places.

“We don’t have time for this, sir,” said Faro quickly. 

“She thinks you’re going to kiss,” Vanto said. “Maybe some other stuff, too — who knows? Heavy petting. You know, that sort of thing.”

“He’s my Commanding Officer, Mom,” Faro hissed at Bei. Bei only shrugged, appearing totally engrossed in her knitting.

“Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone,” she said. “I mean, other than in _Out With the Tide._ ” 

Thrawn, meanwhile, still appeared totally baffled. “Kissing I understand,” he said, not looking at Faro. “But what is heavy petting?”

Vanto looked at Bei. Bei stared placidly down at her knitting. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Faro tried again. This time, Thrawn met her gaze with a measured look. After a moment, he inclined his head.

“Later, then,” he said.

Faro _definitely_ heard Vanto suppress a laugh at that. She crowded Thrawn out of the room as quickly as she could, putting her hand between his shoulder blades and actually pushing him gently into the hall when he didn’t seem inclined to move fast enough. He took the push with good grace, adjusting his pace to reach the master bedroom faster.

There, he disassembled the holocomm with efficiency and disappeared for a moment, moving the parts into the kitchen. When he returned, he carefully propped the door open — no more than an inch, but still — and then leaned against an antique dresser bequeathed to Bei from Faro’s grandmother.

“The Shibric system,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I find that _highly_ unlikely, sir,” Faro said.

“As do I. Perhaps the Shibric system _is_ their destination, but only initially,” Thrawn said. His eyes tracked around the room as he thought it over. From their vector, and other bits of data I’ve gleaned — Commander Vanto will confirm this theory, if it’s true — I believe the final collection point for their hidden cargo may be somewhere in the Derra system.”

Faro thought it over, biting her lip. “The homing devices will tell us for certain,” she said. “Assuming they don’t find them.”

From the blankness of Thrawn’s face, she could tell he was confident the _Hopskip’s_ crew would never know. Privately, Faro was sure of it, too. She’d met them briefly, playing the role of a stiff Core World Imperial — and the few minutes she’d had to observe them told her all she needed to know. 

“In any case,” she said, “the Derra system is known as a Rebel stronghold — as much as the Rebels can _have_ a stronghold, that is. It makes sense they’d deliver the blasters there. So what do we do? Do we send the _Adjudicator_ after them? Maybe a contingent of cruisers as well?”

“Our interests lie elsewhere,” said Thrawn firmly. “In this situation, I believe it’s best if we return to our mission in the Outer Rim. Particularly, I’d like to return to the Unknown Regions, but…”

Faro grimaced, intimately familiar with Thrawn’s complaints about the Unknown Regions. The 7th Fleet was supposed to use Lothal as a homebase only, with the majority of its time spent mapping the far reaches of the galaxy. But so far, they’d been able to do so only a few months out of the standard year, with special demands coming from Governor Pryce, from Moffs and Grand Moffs, from other Grand Admirals, and — worst of all — from Lord Vader and the Emperor himself. 

It would be nice to at least _attempt_ to return to the mission. But if they didn’t handle the _Hopskip,_ who would?

“You’re thinking of delegating the task, sir?” Faro asked.

Thrawn’s eyes tracked over to her, giving her a sudden, uncomfortable jolt as she realized she was discussing military strategy with Grand Admiral Thrawn … who was wearing the type of civilian clothes which had been popular on Corulag nearly twenty years before. 

“Perhaps ‘delegating’ is not the right word,” Thrawn said, pursing his lips.

“ _Unxasi,_ ” Faro supplied in Sy Bisti. Thrawn’s eyelids flickered in response; belatedly, Faro realized it was the first time she’d actively translated for him the same way Vanto did, even though he surely knew she spoke Sy Bisti, too.

But rather than address it, Thrawn only said, “No, not _unxasi._ I think it would be appropriate to pass this information — and access to the homing devices — to Lord Vader. He’s made it clear he prefers to deal with Rebels himself, when possible. And besides, it’s out of our jurisdiction.”

Faro’s lips quirked at that. “I’ll remember that reasoning for later, sir. It may come in handy.”

“Of course,” said Thrawn with a gracious nod, looking down at his comlink. He put the battery pack back in and switched it on, pulling up a message from Vanto. 

“And what will Lord Vader give us in return for this information?” Faro asked, crossing her arms in an unconscious mirror of Thrawn’s posture. He glanced up from the message to stare at her. “His gratitude?” Faro said dryly. “A nice commendation letter, perhaps?”

“He has an old associate of mine in his service,” said Thrawn tonelessly, returning his attention to his list. “A Noghri bodyguard named Rukh. He agreed to return Rukh to my service in exchange for this information, pending as well our successful eradication of the Corulag branch of the Black Sun.”

Mouth dry, Faro couldn’t think of anything to say. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she supposed, that Thrawn had already arranged a deal with Vader or that this entire mission — not to mention Hammerly’s seemingly unrelated tracking of the Rebel agents — had been part and parcel of that bargain. But then again, she suspected that Thrawn would never stop surprising her.

“I hope this Rukh is worth it,” Faro said.

“He is.”

“And what’s a Noghri, anyway?”

Thrawn handed her his comlink, silently inviting her to read Vanto’s findings. They supported Thrawn’s hypothesis entirely — the Rebel ship was indeed heading for the Derra system, with stops first at Shibric and second at…

“Lothal?” Faro read, her eyebrows furrowing. “They’re going to the _Lothal_ system?”

Thrawn, she thought, looked grimly pleased with this. “As I suspected,” he said. 

“But the Lothal Rebels are genuine Rebels, sir,” Faro said. “Not two smugglers and a couple of undercover Rebel agents. They’ll notice the homing devices right away.”

“That’s assuming the Lothal Rebels intend to receive the cargo,” Thrawn told her. “What other possibilities exist?”

Faro stared at the data, the line between her eyebrows deepening. “They could be making a shipment of their own,” she posited. “Piggybacking off the _Hopskip_ to send something else to Derra. Not more weapons — we know they haven’t got enough of those themselves. Perhaps they’re trading something?”

“Or?” Thrawn prompted.

“Or some _one_ ,” said Faro, the solution suddenly becoming clear. “They wouldn’t give the blasters directly to the Lothal Rebels — not at present — but they might accept a delegate to plead their case for more supplies. And if that request is accepted by Rebel leadership, they can always send a portion of the weaponry back to Lothal when the delegate returns.”

“Yes,” said Thrawn, holding out his hand for the comlink. “I believe that to be the case as well.”

Faro surrendered the comlink with a frown. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but if the Rebels on the _Hopskip_ are traveling to Lothal in the first place, why delegate the task to Lord Vader? Other than the chance to win back your Noghri friend, I mean. Why not simply _work_ with Lord Vader? It is our area, after all.”

Thrawn raised his eyebrows in a brief but expressive grimace. Sidestepping that last question, he said, “If Lord Vader tracks the Rebels to Lothal, then Governor Pryce will — however briefly — have her coveted Imperial Star Destroyer in orbit. Admittedly, it will be the _Executor,_ not the _Chimaera,_ but in any case we will be free to pursue our true mission at our leisure.”

“Or at least until High Command calls us back,” said Faro, understanding now. 

Thrawn nodded, keeping his eyes on the comm. Composing a message to Hammerly, Faro suspected. At least, she hoped he wasn’t contacting Darth Vader over something as informal as a comm text … but knowing Thrawn, he probably was.

She re-assembled her own comlink and switched it on, tapping out a few orders of her own. It was Thrawn’s prerogative, if he wished it, to discuss orders with Hammerly; it was Faro’s duty to make sure the bridge crew as a whole was in order. She eyed him as he finished up his message, put the finishing touches on her own, and switched the comlink off again.

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment. When Thrawn said nothing, Faro raised a single eyebrow.

“Sir?”

“They’re performing another song out there,” Thrawn said, his tone sounding a little strange as he gestured to the living room. “I thought we might wait here until it was over.”

“Ah,” said Faro, trying not to smirk. “Good idea, sir. No point in prolonging our own suffering.”

Thrawn nodded. Another beat of silence passed, filled with nothing but the faint soundtrack of _The Reluctant Bride._

“I told Commander Hammerly to send a shuttle down to the port near Korden Outfitting and Surveying,” Thrawn said. 

“How soon?” Faro asked.

“They will be in orbit within the hour,” Thrawn said, fiddling with his comlink. “From there, the shuttle ride down should be no more than two hours and thirteen minutes, allowing time for traffic control.”

So they'd have to say goodbye to Bei soon, which wouldn't be fun. It never was — and it brought another unpleasant duty of Faro's to mind, something she was more or less obliged to do as Bei's daughter.

“Sir, I….” Faro looked down at her feet, unsure how to say this. She shifted uncomfortably before finally forcing herself to start. “I have to apologize about my mother. About her behavior. She—”

“Don’t,” said Thrawn suddenly, his voice rough. Faro glanced up at him, her eyes wide; when he spoke again, he sounded as measured and neutral as he always did. “Don’t apologize, Commodore. There was nothing to fault with her behavior; in fact, I appreciated her actions. The way she treated me is … uncommon. Not unwelcome.”

Faro gave him an exasperated look. “She’s not just being _nice_ to you, sir,” she said. “She’s _flirting_ with you. You realize that, right?”

Silently, Thrawn shook his head. Faro opened her mouth to argue — to prove her point — but something about the solemn set to his mouth stopped her.

“There was nothing romantic about her behavior,” said Thrawn. “Your mother is, like you, a … clever woman. Her actions and words were intended to trigger a specific reaction in each of us; it was an unsubtle form of manipulation, not a romantic overture.”

Faro’s eyebrows knitted. “She was manipulating you? Into doing what?”

Again, Thrawn hesitated. His eyes flickered away from Faro’s, fixing on a distant spot on the wall. “Manipulating me,” he said, “by exaggerating her actions, contrasting them with your own. Manipulating you … I cannot say.”

Manipulating _her?_ Faro stared at Thrawn, tempted to demand an explanation. But he’d already claimed ignorance; if she pressed him, he would only do it again. She studied him instead, taking in the tight line of his lips, the peculiar cast to his eyes. 

With the silence stretching on, Faro gave in. “So she manipulated us,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine, if that’s how you want to define it. Either way, I apologize for her behavior. It isn’t like her.”

“She cares about you,” Thrawn said softly, as if that explained everything. 

“I know.”

“She only wants to see you happy,” he continued. Baffled, Faro couldn’t think of anything to say in response. She avoided Thrawn’s eyes entirely — whatever she might see there, it made her nervous.

“Well, it _didn’t_ make me happy,” she said finally. “Seeing her treat you like that, I mean.”

“I know,” said Thrawn. “That was the point.”

There was no way for Faro to interpret that. Her heart seemed to be pounding awfully hard in her chest, creating a faint pain she didn’t like and didn’t want to think about. She narrowed her eyes at Thrawn, fully aware that she was frowning — that she looked hostile, like she was challenging him on something.

Maybe she was. But under that harsh gaze, Thrawn actually seemed to relax. He leaned against the open door, nudging it closed with a soft click, and gave her a faint smile.

“You’re familiar with _Out With the Tide,_ yes?” he said.

The change of subject only made Faro’s heart pound harder. “Yes,” she breathed, the word coming out from numb lips.

“I am, as well,” Thrawn said. “As is your mother. I think she understands it differently, perhaps, than we do.”

Faro realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to let it out in a sigh. “What do you mean?” she asked.

His smile widened. It was the largest smile she’d ever seen from him — more than a faint twitch of the lips, more than the crooked smirk she sometimes caught a glimpse of during battle — but it was strangely flat. 

“The loneliness of command,” he said. “I think we understand that better than she does.”

Faro stared at him, her mouth dry, her lips a flat line.

“I think we do,” she said.

* * *

They said their goodbyes to Bei in the kitchen, the same room where all three of them met her together for the first time. Thrawn stood off to the side, his scavenged Mandalorian armor looking more scuffed in daylight than it had the night they’d arrived. He stared out the window with the helmet under his arm while Bei embraced her daughter, saying nothing.

When the time came to leave, he would go first. Vanto and Faro were to follow an hour later, heading north to the spaceport rather than weaving toward it from the east as Thrawn would. He turned away from the window only as Bei released Faro and turned her attention to Vanto instead.

“Stay safe, now,” she said, whispering the words just loud enough for all of them to hear. She pulled back, faced Thrawn, met his eyes.

She didn’t attempt to embrace him. She stood in the center of the kitchen and he stood by the window, neither of them moving toward the other. A smile crossed her face — sad and brief — and she nodded her head. The charade was over; she would not attempt to persuade either Faro or Thrawn again. 

When she turned back to her daughter, lips trembling now, Thrawn saw that she truly understood.

He slipped the helmet over his head and left without a word. 

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the mission details in here are remixed from "Side Trip" by Timothy Zahn and Michael Stackpole — such as the Mandalorian armor, the Hopskip, Rukh's origin story, and of course, the nudes.


End file.
